The Killing Jar
by pipking
Summary: “It was a body. It disappeared as soon as they dropped it. I think... I think there might be something in the lake.” [FINISHED]
1. Chapter 1

The coast is clear. At least I think it is. _Shit. _All this rain makes it hard to run for your life.

A crow gives me away - cawing like a maniac as I come bursting out of the bushes. I hear a shout in the distance. I crash through the door in front of me and slam it shut. More angry voices - more insane villagers heeding the call of the first.

I drop beneath the window but it's too late. They're coming.

I can hear my heart hammering in my chest despite the rain - that, and the mindless moaning of the villagers. I can hear the sizzle of their torches, smell the putrid stench of rotten cooking in the ruinous kitchen. Lighting flashes, bright and startling - the dark room momentarily opens up. There's a bookcase. I throw my weight behind my shoulder and push it in front of the door. I've bought myself a minute, maybe.

I peak over the widow sil, the barrel of gun cold on my cheek.

Five. Just five. For now. Brandishing pitchforks and scythes, walking towards this ratty two-storey without hurry. They're plotting.

One of them shouts to the others in a language I can't understand. I think it's French. I doesn't matter - I didn't need to stay away in languages to know that they're calling reenforcements. And man, do these fuckers move. I have to think fast. The rain's coming down hard.

Lighting - there's a string handing from a brass ring on the ceiling. I holster my gun and jump for it. Missed.

I turn to the window. _Shit!_ A villager lets out a garbled cry and hucks his scythe at me - glass shatters - I fall to my knees and narrowly avoid getting shortened by a head. Before I'm on me feet, he's halfway through the window.

_My house, bitch._

I whip out my shotgun and let it roar. His head explodes in a flash of red and the bullet takes out the guts of the woman climbing in behind him.

The toppled bookcase creaks in front of the door. More than five now. Definitely.

I get the string - yank it and stairs come spilling out of the ceiling.

"Allí él es! La ventana!"

More villagers pile up around the opening. It's like the fucking highschool prom - these bastards are so focussed and so stupid at the same time. The pounding on the door gets furious.

I scramble up just as two young men simultaneously spill through the window. The first lurches at the stairs but I make him a puddle with one shot to the head. I grab the stairs - heave - and pull them up before the second makes a grab. The trapdoor shuts neatly behind them. My fingers scramble around for the end of the string - I pull it up and slash it with my knife. I can hear the brass ring hit the floor, and the man grunt in surprise.

Dark as a face-full of velvet. I flick my lighter and the pitch black attic retreats into shadows. Silver glints at the edge of my vision. Padlock, right on the seam of the trapdoor. I snap it shut.

I can't heart the rain anymore. I can only hear my heartbeat, and the moans of the creatures downstairs.

A quick look tells me I'm safe for the moment - that is unless they get ambitious and decide to burn the village down. I wouldn't put it passed them. I've learned to be very open-minded in the hour since my arrival. Like, for example, your modern rural European farmer can take six fucking shots to the gut and keep on rolling. Life's a goddamn education.

There's one small window - I close my lighter and sneak a look out. Turns out I picked the one building in town not attached at the roof to any other. Good, I guess - no surprises. Except if they think of that burning thing. Today just isn't my day.

My heartbeat slows as I watch the villagers - six... no, eight now - convene in front of the house, torchlight casting their warped faces in horrible shadows. The banging on the door stops.

I'm ready to break out the glass and do my best Cassidy... but something's wrong. They've stopped coming at me. And they aren't going anywhere. They're just... standing there. Looking up at the window. Right at me.

A few are still downstairs. I can hear them knocking around. Trying to find something to stand on, maybe.

I get a smoke from my chest pocket, light it, and wait. The lighting flickers half-heartedly.

Minutes pass, heartbeat slows to near normal. I figure they aren't coming after me. Whatever's giving them their stupid strength is making them hang back.

I don't like it. I know where I stand when it's on the trigger end of a gun. Something's going on.

After a while I get tired of watching them watch me. The cherry on my cigarette winks at me in the glass.

So - attic. There must be something. I pull out my lighter and pan the flame around the room. There are boxes and crates, a few old furnishings covered in dusty cloths. I pull the nearest one off - a chair. Despite the smell of mildew, it looks comfy.

_You want to wait? I can wait. I can wait 'til Armageddon if I have to._

I rest my shotgun across my knees and lean back in the chair.

_Stalemate_. It's going to be a long night.

It was getting to be a very long day.

Leon gave me his most sour look. "You're a shit."

I shrugged. "What else is new?" As irritated as he looked, I noticed he didn't stop packing his suitcase. All the necessaries - clean underwear, shirt and jacket, sawed-off and a dozen boxes of shells. Thank god he didn't have to go through customs. He tossed them in together roughly and had a hard time snapping the latch.

"There's nothing I can do, Bailey. I have to go." When he looked up his face had softened. He flicked his hair out of his eyes and crossed his arms.

"The question is, are we going to be friends when you get back." I ran my tongue over my teeth and tried to look more pissed-off than I felt. I was worried. Sure Leon's a big boy. But this didn't feel right. The late-night phone calls taken in the basement; the anonymous envelopes dropped off with the mail; this wasn't typical Secret Service stuff. I knew procedure back to front. Cloak-and-dagger bullshit went out with Hoover.

"Don't fight with me," said Leon wearily. All the strength suddenly sapped out of him and he sat heavily on the bed. "I don't need this right now."

"There are things you're not telling me. This is a contract job. You don't have to take it. You can walk away."

He let out a wild sort of laugh and shook his head. "Not now."

Leon had just got back from a two-week stint in Prague when another envelop found its way into our house. I dreaded the sound of the mailman on the porch. When I went to airport to get him he was pale and feverish - for three days he lay in bed and wavered in and out of consciousness. I've never been so scared in my life. He pulled out of it fine except for body aches, which even now, a week after coming home, still made him wince when he moved his left arm. He said it was just a flu. He had bruises all over his back and down his legs - and one small pucker between the toes on his left foot. When I asked him about it he said, "Probably a spider bite," and quickly went on to show me his snapshots of the Old Jewish Cemetery.

He suddenly got up, grabbed his suitcase, and headed to the door. I bit my lip.

"Be careful," I called after him. He paused in the doorway and flashed me a dashing smile.

"I always am, babe."

And then he was gone.

And here I am.

I dozed for a bit, the ebbing rain like a lullaby, the moaning bastards downstairs like nightmares on the edge of breaking. It wasn't really rest, but it was something.

Suddenly a bell tolls - sharp and loud enough to rattle the glass. I jump to my feet and peer out the window. My guards drop their torches and pitchforks. They turn as one to the source of the bell - the church at the top of the town's farthest hill.

Stomping downstairs, glass shatters. - the ones in the house come outside to join their friends. The group ambles off like nursing home seniors called to lunch.

More bodies sway out into the streets and join the throng. Soon it's a dozen, then nearly two, all headed towards the bell.

I wait until the streets are empty and the bell stops toning before I blow off the padlock and kick down the stairs.

_I'm coming, Leon. Wherever you are._


	2. Chapter 2

Glass snaps under my boots as I step off the ladder. I can hear the wind whispering through the weathered boards of the walls.

The villagers made a mess - kitchen table overturned, glass cupboard punched out, pot of putrid stew spilled all over the floor. As if it makes a difference.

I peak out the window- still clear - and hop over the sil. No shouts; the rain has stopped. The sky is brighter - must be near morning. I take a few tentative steps into the street, shotgun leading the way. _Constant vigilance_.

_CAW_!

I spin around and fire. The crow sitting on the fencepost explodes in a wet pop. A slash of blood hits my cheek.

Could have been the same bird that gave me away._ Bastard._ I wish I could kill it again.

I stand perfectly still and listen to the wind. It carries muffled voices raised in chanting from the church on the hill. From the sound of it, I have roughly until Rapture to poke around. The building sits on the horizon in a halo of ghost-light from the slow rising sun.

Good. Now I can figure out what the fUck I'm doing here.

There aren't more than a dozen shacks and houses, lined up around the town. The first few offer nothing more than rotten food and bodies... bodies piled in corners like dust. Maybe the people who used to live here. More likely the ones who didn't convert. My back prickles every time I don't have a wall behind it.

Beside the house I holed up in is a long, fat cabin. Probably the postoffice, bank, grocery and bar. Fucking hicks, man.

I'm half right - there's a big bag of undelivered mail spilling its guts in front of the counter. Behind it rows of open slots. There's a black safe, door blown off. Burned bits of strange currency dot the room like confetti.

I start to push the muzzle of my shotgun into the letters, thinking of Agent Chambers and the bear-trap. She was supposed to come with me - a favour. And on the outskirts of this hick trap _snap!_ She steps in a covered hole and nearly loses her foot. These folk like their surprises.

The sudden squawk of sonic feedback startles me and I fire into the bag of letters.

When the smoke, dust, and smouldering bits of paper clear a bit, I squat down on my haunches and unclip my radio.

"Bailey here. Over."

The static flares again and a woman's voice squeaks through.

"– thought you were dead!" Her voice is gravelly and strained. She sounds like she's been doped.

"I'm fine, Jen. A little trouble with the locals. How's your leg?"

She is quiet for a moment. "I think it's a desk job when I get back to the States," she mumbles. "Fortunately I can't feel anything. They're about to put me under."

_Damn_. "It's my fault," I say, running my fingers through my hair. I stand and wander behind the counter. "I'm sorry."

Jen laughs like she'd like to believe it. "Yeah, well fuck you and we're even." She coughs, and suddenly I hear scraping, like she stuffing the radio under her pillow. I hear a muffled voice.

After a few minutes, Jen says, "I don't have long. I wanted to tell you something. That man at the Consulate. Curon. He set us up. This thing goes way up."

I shake my head even though she can't see it. "I don't give a shit. I'm here to get Leon. That's it. These people can solve their own fucking problems without my boyfriend."

I can't help get angry. It's this kind of altruistic bullshit that got Leon in this mess, whatever it is. _"I have to go. I have to."_ No, you don't. You can walk the fuck away.

Jen's fading. I hope she has enough sense left to stash the radio before she does under.

"– more than that," she breathes. "It's just... a test..."

I hear the scrape again, and the radio goes dead.

A clean-looking piece of paper is sitting on the desk behind the counter. Blue ink. Looks fresh. I clip my radio back on my belt and pick it up. It's in English, but written in a hand that didn't understand the language.

_The American is strong. They move him to west side of lake. Come by road behind church. I'll meet. Do not feel safe in light._

I carefully fold the note. A friend? Or a trap?

Only one way to find out.

In minutes I'm crouched behind a massive tombstone in the cemetery in front of the church. The hypnotic moaning has reached a fever pitch. It's not even words - it's pure, vile mindlessness that sends a shiver up my spine. Light in the stained glass windows shows me shadows of raised hands. Up close the building looks old and haunted, with peeling white paint and a slight lean to the left - but the sound of a two dozen hideous voices singing blood and razors make it seem like the gateway to hell.


	3. Chapter 3

The chanting of hideous voices doesn't show any signs of stopping. To the right of the squat church there's an open gate, and a dirt path cutting through the grass. And, no doubt, a mysterious stranger lurking nearby.

Crouched low, I scuttle to the front of the church, press my back against the weathered boards and peek inside over my shoulder. The stained glass is old and hazy - all I see is shapes... a lot of shapes, a lot of hands raised up in prayer. Too many for one man no matter how tweaked his shotgun. _Shit_.

I can barely make out the figure at the pulpit past all the waving arms. I know he's there because he's surrounded by candlelight, arms outstretched. That, and his eyes are glowing. Creepy motherfucker.

He looks straight at me.

There's a second's ebb in the tide of voices.

I hold my breath and stand my ground. I start to sweat.

Then the sound rises up again, driven by a loud, booming voice - the eyes of the preacher move over his congregation. He didn't see me. Or he didn't care. The second thought bothers me more.

_Leon, what the fuck did you get us in to?_

I shake myself. _Remember the plan: get Leon, get out. Kick his ass after you've saved it._

I stay low and pass under the window, roll and am on my feet. Slipping through the open gate with my pistol out, shotgun strapped to my back - the mad cacophony coming from the church gets quieter as the path descends. From the village it looked like the church was on a hill. Now I'm winding my way down a fucking cliff. I can hear rushing water, but in the early morning dim it's all just empty black and mist on my right. My head tingles.

I go on - deeper, slower. The brightening yellow sky becomes a wide slash of light above me. I feel the spray on my face. I can't hear the church-goers anymore. It's all rushing, roaring water... and the squeak of rusted metal. My eyes adjust - or maybe it just gets brighter. _Do not feel safe in light,_ the note said. Fuck that - I like to be able to see my death coming.

A structure starts to take shape in the darkness. The water roars - must be near the falls that spill into the lake. Giant clockwork gears creak and moan as they channel the force of the river. Crates glide silently overhead on pulleys, black shapes against the strip of sky. If it weren't on the edge of a waterfall I'd say it looked like the shipping port I landed at.

A voice cries out upstream.

I drop behind a large boulder and hold out my gun.

_Splash!_ Something heavy falls into the water to my right. No voices answer the first; no feet come thundering down on me. A few seconds holding my breath and a crate floats by on the current.

Still safe.

The crate bumps up against a board laid across the river not a dozen yards away. I make out figures walking towards it - two man-shapes - stumbling, incautious steps. Too far away to be sure of the kill.

They grunt and haul the crate onto the river bank. A garbled voice shouts to be heard above the roar of the falls - I see a few - four - shapes cast black shadows against the sky, stood on a catwalk high above the river, looking down. Lounging like men do when the boss isn't looking. They look distressingly normal.

I watch. My finger itches.

_Wait._

Someone else has another idea.

A come-hither whistle from the far side of the bridge.

The men on the catwalk all perk up at once - one points at the far side of the ravine and another grabs his scythe from his back. At ground level, the men handling the crate go scampering off - I track their progress up the scaffolding - now I know the way out. No other villager comes out - I guess these six have a special exemption from church service, so that means whatever's going down, this is a choke point. All the action is on the bridge above.

A shot rings out from the dark on the opposite side of the catwalk, echoing even above the sound of the river. The first three men fall with their guts streaming out of their mid-sections and land with a splash about ten feet away from me.

_A friend, then. With a big fucking gun._

The two crate handlers are hanging back. The one left on the bridge holds his ground and shouts nonsense into the trees on the other side.

I look down the length of my arm and fire twice. _One good turn deserves another._ The men join their friends in the river, and now the sole villager looks around, not knowing where the next shot will come from.

I dash out from behind my rock and run towards the structure. The giant gears turn; they're attached to a large gate blocking the drop-off. I run past the gate-house and notice the twitching bodies of the fallen villagers pressed up against the grate, bits of them flapping like fish. A few shots explode their heads and they are still.

A crate swings silently past me when I get to the second landing. It's stencilled with words I can't read but somehow get lodged in my brain: _FUENTES_. I climb, and reload as I run.

Man on the bridge spots me - no more sounds from the forest. He lets out an angry cry in his foreign tongue: "Rasagre su cabza apagado!"

I get to the bridge and take him out at the knees before he's halfway across.

He falls. I can barely hear the splash.

For a moment, all is calm. The catwalk creaks as I make my way to the middle. It's morning - the sky is overcast and flinchingly bright. I can see the ground below clearly, and the roof of the church peaking over the lip of the ravine.

"Show yourself!" I shout into the trees. I keep my gun aimed low to show I'm no threat if I don't need to be.

Crows take flight over the forest, cawing madly at the sky. Other than that, nothing.

_Fine._

I wonder if my benefactor is watching. I raise my right hand it a wave. The forest is dense - like it's trapped the night under its canopy.

Nothing. The catwalk sways in the wind.

_Fuentes_. Something familiar about that word. Must've seen it before. I try to recall the hazy trip over stashed away on the ship. Maybe something I saw in the hold. An idea is beginning to form.

Suddenly I hear a loud gong - within seconds I see hordes of villagers spilling down the path on the side of the cliff, first in ones and twos with torches and pitchforks - then by three and fives, stumbling over themselves at the sight of me. A few fall off the side and land with their heads at right angles to their bodies.

Damn. Less fun for me.

I holster my pistol and grab my shotgun off my back.

_Church is out._


	4. Chapter 4

I don't fire right away. My finger twitches with anxiety and I choke on my heart.

The horde roars. The first dozen hit the scaffolding and make clumsy attempts at climbing. The ones behind them - a few women, a few men, all with pockmarked faces and twisted mouths - push and pile up. Their eyes - bright, glowing eyes - roll back. They shout razorblade curses.

I take a step back on the bridge and dart a look around. Nothing beneath me but rushing water and a lot of empty air. The forest behind me - nothing yet. I brace the gun against my shoulder.

They're still streaming down the cliff side. _That's a big fucking church._

Sweat rolls down my face. It stings my eye. I don't blink.

They climb like drunken apes - but they're making it. The first dozen are past the swinging crates and making their way up to the catwalk. The path is narrow and one gets flipped over the railing. This close, I'm not disappointed.

Like some alien creature made of human spare parts, the ravenous, glow-eyed villagers claw and scrape and growl and surge forward. One rips the a ragged hole in another's cheek - one takes a bite and pulls back with blood streaming down her face.

I shudder.

The blast rings off the walls of the ravine as the shot tears off three heads and knocks their twitching bodies into the mob. Like dominos, the pack behind them topples over.

_My bridge._

I pump the gun and aim. They stop climbing and pushing - the roar dies down to a few indignant moans. The sudden quiet makes the air seem empty. I hear a sudden ringing in my ear.

I take another step back.

I hear the slick, meaty sound of something flapping in an open wound. From my point on the bridge I can only see the feet of the last one to fall. The left one twitches.

_No fucking way._

I feel a sudden sharp pain in my neck and realize I'm grinding my teeth.

Something gushes like vomit - I hear it splash - the feet shoot up and are suddenly gone.

Shoulders appear, hunched over. No, not hunched. Headless. _Shit_.

The body turns and from the oozing, gaping neck comes a deep, menacing growl.

I think I'm going to die.

A piercing hiss rings out - blood and pus comes jetting out of the wound with a madly waving tentacles - out pops a pink blob with one hideous alien eye looking straight at me. It whips around on its reed-thin neck and the body twitches like its been electrified. Something glints in the dull morning light, waving off the end of its longest tentacle.

_That's new._

As the first thing looks and me and makes a long, guttural scream, I hear a few more pops and splashes.

_Fuck this._

I turn around and run like hell. Boards snap under my heels and go tumbling into the river below, but I'm moving too fast to loose my footing. I swing my shotgun onto my back and grab my knife. The bridge shakes as the squid-heads start galloping towards me.

My boots hit the dirt on other side of the bridge and in one movement I spin with my blade outstretched. I get a glimpse of them coming at me - the first three full out running, nearly halfway across the catwalk - before the ropes snap and the bridge tilts sharply to the right. Heads explode as the monsters scramble to hang on to the bridge. Those at the far bank stop dead.

I hack at the ropes.

The bridge falls. The monsters fall like stones into the river.

I can't breathe. I think I'm going to faint. I fall back on my ass and drop the knife. Red fog pulses in front of my eyes. _Snap!_ the rope breaks on the other side and the rickety catwalk falls into the river. The shape of the mob on the other side dwindles. Or maybe... its me.

I fall back into darkness with my heartbeat pounding like a drum.


	5. Chapter 5

I smell food.

In the dark of waking I hear the snap of bacon and hiss of eggs dropped in hot grease. I can hardly move - my stomach tightens and neck flares with pain. I take a deep breath and settle back. The bed is soft - feathers. It smells clean.

I try to open my eyes. Brutally bright light comes from a square to my right. I blink and turn my head. The room wavers into focus. A house - a shack like all the others, but in much better shape. Lived in. Likely by someone who doesn't explode into a blobby-tentacled monstrosity - its hard to image those things liking their meat anything but raw.

A man is standing by the stove with his back to me. I squint my eyes and try to look like I'm sleeping. This gets harder the second I realize I'm naked.

His profile suggests he's a young man - his long hair suggests he's local - his fastidious hands suggest he's cultured.

_And maybe his face will split down the centre with teeth._

I want my guns.

He's preoccupied - I risk moving my head a little. There. On a chair, left side, butt of the pistol asking for my hand.

A sound like feathers.

_Click_.

The man freezes.

"Hello, stranger." I smile at him down the length of my gun. "Turn around slowly."

He carefully lays the spatula on the counter and turns, hair in his eyes, palms up and out. His vest is stained with blood.

He seems to notice it as soon as I do - one hand drops to pick at it in disgust. He _tsks_.

"Didn't get to change," he says; his accent is one part purr, two parts growl. When he smiles at me I sit straighter, but my gun never moves.

"You might want to turn that off," I say, flicking my gun in the direction of the smoking bacon. "Don't worry - I'll be here." As I speak I reach out to my clothes on the chair. He watches me as I stand.

"Nice tattoo."

"The bacon, if you don't mind."

I hastily pull on my clothes. As my new friend prepares two plates he starts to hum a little tune. A foreign lullaby. His hands are clean - his sleeves are rolled tight back to the elbows.

The gun belt snaps on my hip. "You're a doctor."

He laughs softly. "Not yet a doctor. An intern. They send us out to tend the _rústico_. Practice before we get to the _cerdos ricos_." He takes a plate in each hand and motions with his head to follow.

I drop my pistol in its holster. _I haven't had bacon in ages._ He kept me naked in a soft bed; left my gun where I could clearly get it. Likely he's not going to fork me in the eye over eggs.

Still. I leave the latch off.

We sit with the late morning light shining down on the table, slowly melting the unlit candles at the centre. I reflect the sun into his eyes with my knife.

"Are we safe?"

He chews. "For now," he says calmly. "The _aldeanos_ are preoccupied with the destruction of their gate." He waves a hand. "I believe you were sleeping."

I rip a piece of bacon between my teeth. "It seemed like a good thing to do at the time."

Another polite laugh. He flicks his dark hair out of his dark eyes. "I'm Jean." He extends his hand.

It is soft and smooth. _A doctor_.

Something isn't right.

"Jean," I say as our fingers part. "French?"

"I was born in France." He shovels a fork-full of eggs into his mouth. He turns his head flirtingly away from the light I'm shining in his eyes. "You're here for the American?"

_Clever._

"Yes. Do you know where he is?" I continue to eat. I feel that twinge in my neck again and ignore it. Focus all my attention at the weight on my hip, the eggs on my plate. The air begins to fizzle - like the taste of tin before lightning strikes.

Jean smiles - perfect teeth, white and straight - and leans into the light bouncing off my knife. It makes his eye glow green.

"I am a friend, Bailey. Do not be suspicious of me."

"Did you know people around here have monsters exploding out of them?"

His smile falters. "Yes."

"Makes it hard to trust your fellow man," I say. "No matter how cute he's trying to be."

He falls back from the glare and chuckles under his breath. "Debo haber cogidole cuando usted estaba dormido."

The pistol is already in my hand, aimed at his head. I chew my food slowly.

"Didn't catch that, Johnny-boy."

He pushes back from the table slowly, shaking his head. He holds his hands in front of him and gives me a sly grin.

"Want to tie me up, boss? Will you listen to what I have to say then?"

A sound almost too soft to hear - sweat-hot skin coming off vinyl. Jean clasps his fingers together. Grin widens. Light shining on the candles makes it hard to see him clearly.

_Shit._ Bad fucking vacation.

_Thump. Thump-thump._

Behind me. I widen my eyes at Jean. _Moment of truth, buddy._

"You first," I say with an encouraging point of my gun. His hands go up again - he looks amused, not scared. I follow him out into the main room.

_Thump._

Coming from the cupboard to my left. Jean walks up to it and turns his head. "This might answer some of you concerns," he says with a smirk.

Gun steady and ready. "Do it."

He grabs the handles and swings open the door, taking a wide step back.

I meet the frightened, angry eyes of a girl. She's bound with rope at her wrists and ankles; gagged with a dirty cloth tied tight around her hair. She whimpers at the sight of me and my gun.

For a second I consider shooting her.

_Fuck you. Fuck your problems. Fuck exploding villagers. I want Leon, and I want out. I don't want to get involved._

I let out a breath and lower the pistol.

"Untie her."

Jean makes no complaint. The girl recoils from him - like a cat would with a stranger. _This is her first time seeing him._ He quickly pulls out the knots - she wiggles her hands out of the binding and pulls back the gag.

_Smack!_

Jean falls back from the blow.

"Bastard!" shouts the girl, pulling at the rope on her ankles. Once free she scrambles to get a Jean's face.

I shoot a hole in the roof of the hut.

The pair freezes. The crackle has gone out of the air some - I think we're through. For now.

"Look, I've had a rough day." I rub my temple with my gun hand. "And I'm tired of surprises. Tell me what's going on, or I'll blow your fucking heads off. You have five minutes."

They take turns, first the girl accusing Jean and Jean holding up his hands in defence - soon they're filling in the gaps for each other. I listen even though I don't want to.

In the end it's longer than five minutes. I stop caring. Leon - my Leon - begins to blur in the flurry of details. _Big fucking problems._ I listen and hope I'm still at the bridge being nibbled on by monsters. Dying in my sleep.

By the time they finishing talking, I'm involved.

It isn't a matter of choice. I'll give the doctor credit - he bows his head in shame when he tells me what he shot into my neck while I was sleeping. A little gift to keep me motivated.

"How long do I have?" I'm surprised I haven't shot him yet. The girl - Amy - is looking at him with such disgust I don't need to waste the bullet.

"Enough time to get us all out of here." They're both still sitting on the floor like bad puppies. He looks at his hands. Soft hands. Doctor hands.

Could come in handy.

"Do you have a med kit?" I ask him. He perks up and points to the box with the red cross on it above the bed. "Is the antidote in there?"

His hand drops. "Something else we'll have to pick up, I'm afraid."

I sigh and shake my head. "Great fucking plan."


	6. Chapter 6

"There. You see?" I hand Amy the heavy weapon. "Simple enough. Look through here. Line up a head with the crosshairs. Pop."

She holds the rifle like a bouquet. "I don't like guns," she says, pouting.

"What's your opinion on being eaten alive?"

At first Amy balks, every inch the American princess - then she sees my eyes. The rifle shifts in her hands. "Okay," she whispers. Now she's holding it like a club. Better than nothing, I suppose. I move her hands to where they're supposed to be.

Amy gets herself acquainted with the rifle. _Tinct!_ She's pulled the trigger without knowing it and looks up at me in sick dread. The barrel is pointed right at my heart.

I give her a big smile. Her own answers weakly.

I drop to my knees and continue cleaning my pistol on the cloth laid out at our feet. "Jean says we're safe from the all sides but North East - there." I point to where the catwalk was. We're in a clearing a few miles back from the house and up on a rise. A good vantage point - past the treetops we can see in all directions. The forest peters out to bare grass on the south side. Jean says the villagers always stay on their side of the river, now, close to the church. An underground passage leads from the church basement to a castle far off in the distance. I can barely see it - like a pencil sketch on the parchment sky.

My ward peers through the scope. She's eighteen if she's a day, pretty like all American girls expect to be. Despite her pampered looks and perfect nails, I see a hardness in her. Waiting.

"When did you get infected?" _Snap-click-tinct-click._ My gun comes together in a matter of seconds.

She scans the horizon and says nothing for a moment. Then she lowers the gun and averts her eyes.

"When they grabbed me, I guess. They knocked me out." She tucks her hair behind her ears. On her left temple is fading purple welt. "I didn't even see them coming."

"Now you can," I say.

She figures it out in a few seconds. When she takes up the rifle again, her grip is steady. "Right," she says curtly.

Jean pointed us to the clearing and slunk off in the opposite direction to check his traps. If anything comes from the south, we'll hear it. I don't trust him - call me a cynic, but anyone who poisons me gets a big fucking X in my book - and him lurking about alone in the woods makes me edgy. Could be he's gone to get reinforcements. Could be he's setting traps for us. Could be a lot of things. Most of them unpleasant.

Sun is beginning to set. Overhead the clouds take on rust in their shadows. The sound of the river is a dull hum on the edge of hearing. Wind whispers through the trees - animals scuttle through the undergrowth.

I do my best not to think of Leon. I fail. _Shit, Leon. Holy fucking shit._

I have a slight headache. Tension or infection? Jean says there's time. And if I believe anything it's that he's in the same boat as I am.

I chuckle. Amy looks at me suspiciously.

"Fucking aliens, man."

Amy does not smile back.

_Snap!_

I twig breaks a few feet down the south side of the slope. Amy spins, gasps, and pulls the trigger on her empty rifle. _Tinct!_

A heartbeat and I crouch with my gun aimed at the trees. Nothing.

"Come out, Jean," I growl.

There's a rustle to the right and Jean steps out from behind a tree with his hands up.

"A little jumpy, no?" He wears a great big grin as he saunters up the slope. "The perimeter is secure. I can't see any _aldeanos_. Must all be at a party. You can put that down now," he says as he reaches the peak.

I stand and keep my pistol out. "You were gone a long time."

He claps me on the shoulder. "It's a big place, my friend."

"I want to go home."

Amy holds the rifle in one hand and looks like she's about to drop. In a moment Jean is at her side; he takes her arm, rests the back of his hand against her forehead - doctor stuff, man stuff. The rifle falls down and they don't even notice.

_My team. Jesus._

Amy's faint passes; she pales but stays conscious. I think she's beginning to discover something about herself - something no one expects of a papered president's daughter. Her eyes come over defiant. She ties her hair back tight with the cloth used to gag her.

We sit in a circle, and lay it all out. Jean retrieves a tattered map from his vest and traces our possibilities.

"We need to get to the castle. Quickest way is the church basement - tunnel leads straight there. Trouble is, we have no way of getting to it from this side. Someone cut the bridge."

I raise an eyebrow. "Someone doesn't fancy being lunch."

Quicksilver smile. "_Perdón._ We have a few options. If we make our way down _here_ -" his finger moves from our position on the map down the south side and swings east "- we can cross over on the lake. There were some _aldeanos _on a boat earlier, just two. They dumped something in the water." He hesitates.

"What?"

He shakes his head to clear it. "_No es nada._ Must have been the undertow."

I lower my voice. "What?"

"It was a body. It disappeared as soon as they dropped it. I think... I think there might be something in the lake."

We talk for half an hour. Jean gives us each some extra ammo and a few grenades. We can cross the lake, take the old mines to a reserve in the castle keep. Jean says to expect heavy resistance.

"These the same mines where they found the eggs?"

Jean nods silently.

Amy hardens the more we speak, but says little herself. The slack stiffens out of her back. She pulls the rifle on her lap. Cold, rusty light bounces off the clouds. A killing light. By the time we reach the mines it'll be night.

I like the dark.

We're moving. I take point and Jean brings in the rear. Amy runs with the rifle in her arms like an action hero. Three infested people with gun-barrels out. All we have to lose is our lives.

Shadows deepen in the forest.

Soon, we catch sight of the lake.


	7. Chapter 7

The water is calm, smooth as glass - but murky and impenetrable in the evening light. After a few minutes spying, I figure it's safe. The lake is hemmed in by trees on all sides - only two spots clear enough to land a boat. Huge tangles of black driftwood bob up and down serenely. Birds. Wind. Evening crickets start their serenade.

I don't like it.

Jean points wordlessly to a small motor boat tethered to the dock a few yards away. I nod once. He motions for Amy to follow and the two of them crab-walk into the clearing.

The lake swells in a hump near the centre - driftwood shudders and floats aimlessly away from it.

_Something's moving. Something big._

I say nothing.

They're already in the boat when I leave the safety of the trees. Amy sits alert in the middle and Jean holds the rip cord; I jump in and take point; the motor coughs and chokes like a chainsaw. I cringe. _So much for sneaking._ I notice an anchor attached to a length of rope by Jean's feet.

The little boat buzzes into the centre of the lake. The further we go, the more uneasy I become - I don't like being so exposed. I scan the murky water. Jean darts his eyes around nervously. Amy stares ahead, gun on her lap - loaded now, which is perhaps why she looks so grim and her hands hold it delicately.

There - the other landing is a hundred yards away. No _aldeanos_ yet. Spray speckles my face; the air is cool over the water. We pass a hunk of driftwood and it rides out on our ripples.

"What's that?"Amy shouts, eyes wide and staring straight ahead. I'm already on it - I let bullets fly into the water just as the bump explodes in a violent splash and an earth-shaking roar echoes over the lake. Amy screams. Jean screams. I scream and spasm on the trigger - the bullets hiss into the water. I can't see if I land any hits - I can see anything until the water rushes away from the rising monster and a head the size of a house opens its great, stinking maw to reveal hideous tentacles wiggling like worms - oh god, it _stinks_ - like mouldering bodies in a sewer - like dead, rotten things.

Two words come to mind as I fumble for another clip.

_Holy shit._

Scales fly off its snout as my bullets strike; it doesn't seem to notice. The head rises like a rocket and towers above out little boat - I see its nobby, cancerous underbelly and fire, barely breaking the skin - I shout, _"Turn!"_ just as Jean yanks the motor sharply to the left - the creature spins as it falls towards us - an eye the size of table comes rushing at me - a mad eye, blind with fury and rolled back white. I see my terrified face reflected in it as it comes crashing down.

The boat surges forward. I get a momentary glimpse of the clouds again. Amy is screaming bloody hell and forgets she has a gun. I turn to see the thing fall back into the water like a breaching whale. The splash knocks me over the edge of the boat and I go tumbling into the lake - the sudden shocking, numbing cold makes me spasm. Fingers twitch - I drop my pistol and open my eyes underwater - so dark, can't even see my feet. Every nerve in my body sparks with the possibility of a killing bite. _Shit shit shit._

I break the surface gasping for air. Jean and Amy are still in the boat, rocked and terrified a dozen feet away. I whip my head around. My legs feel like bait swinging in the open water.

"Swim!" Jean shouts. He's cut the motor and holds a grenade back, pin pulled. Amy hold her hands over her ears. She's crying hysterically.

I feel the suck of water beneath me as the great beast turns.

When it breaks the surface again it's farther than before - close to the dock on the other side. Something that big needs room to manoeuvre. It doesn't jump into the air but stays on the surface and begins its charge.

"Throw me the anchor!" I shout through a mouthful of lake water. I can feel it coming - the current underneath pulls me towards it and I struggle to swim.

Jean doesn't hesitate - he grabs the rope with his free hand, swings the heavy hook once and tosses it - it lands an arms-length away. I snatch the rope before it the anchor drags it away. Then I turn.

Nothing - not the exploding villagers, not the glow-eyed priest, not the knowledge of an alien entity growing inside me - nothing is as mind-numbingly terrifying as an open mouth the size of a subway tunnel with tentacle-teeth flapping furious coming at me like freight train while I struggle not to be sucked in. Amy cries and Jean shouts something I can't hear, still holding the grenade. My heart thunders in my ears. It's coming. My cold fingers tighten on the rope. One shot. I have one shot.

My mind goes blank with fear as the mouth closes in. The smell - if my stomach wasn't a tight, dry ball of terror I'd puke. The sound is like a building coming down.

It rears back and makes to strike ten feet away.

I dive - with all my might I drag my hands and kick out - the power of it's massive, swimming arms helps pull me down. Utter blackness and noseful of lake water. Rough, ice-cold skin scrapes my cheek as my body is pinned against it's underbelly. Fingers scramble for purchase - I can hear its roar of rage and the thundering of its heart echo through its ribs - I roll and bounce against it and narrowly avoid the swipe of its back legs - at the last second my hand shoots out and I latch on to its tail. Head breaks the surface - gasping, sputtering - but alive and hanging on for all I'm worth as the beast's tail lashes around. I hug it tight to my body and it cuts through my clothes.

The boat buzzes off like a pesky fly - the anchor rope is taut. Jean shouts at Amy, who takes up her rifle with a tear-streaked face and lets bullets fly into the face of the monster. My head goes under when the creature swerves.

With a wordless cry I dig my fingers between its scales and drag myself up the length of its thrashing tail. Wind and water whip my face. When I get to the fat end it's a little easier - I snatch my knife and ram it in to the hilt. I pull myself forward, legs kicking out. So far it's so blind with rage all its attention in on the bullets stinging its open mouth and the sharp anchor tearing into its cheek.

I'm at its hips and try to stand. Like walking on the wing of a crashing plane, but I manage to get to my knees. My knife cuts between the hard scales and out squirts sluggish globs of black blood. Stabbing and crawling - dragging myself up the length of its body - the gunfire takes on a deeper boom and I see Amy hold my shotgun to her shoulder. A chunk of tentacle goes flying over. The beast roars and shakes its head. I nearly tumble off into the water.

"Cut the rope!" I scream. Amy drops the gun and pulls a knife from Jean's belt. iOne - two - three/I slashes and it snaps.

Jean shouts, pulls back his hand, and tosses the grenade into its open, angry mouth.

_Boom._

I let go and fly back from the blast of meat and gore - tail thrashes madly and knocks me to the side like ping-pong ball - I hear a crack as I hit the driftwood and my arms shoot out to grab on.

The monster goes belly up - pieces of its head float past, twitching tentacles and chunks of flesh - suddenly the lake is quiet again but for the sound of the sinking monster bubbling out its guts.

The boat floats with its two passengers several yards away. I raise my hand weakly and Jean waves back. Amy sits with her face in her hands. The engine sputters to life and the boat drifts towards me.

Jean grins like a fiend when he reaches out his hand. I take it gratefully. Every inch of me shakes with spent adrenaline. It takes both of them to pull me up, heavy with water and fatigue.

After a few minutes panting on the floor of the boat, I look at Amy. "Are you alright?"

She offers me a weak smile and wipes her eyes.

"Craziest thing I've ever seen," Jean says as he takes up his position at the motor.

"Big fucking fish." I cough heavily into my hand. _Sweet Jesus._

"No, my friend - you. _Loco de mierda_." He pats my shoulder appreciatively. "I think we might make it after all."

I use the time it takes to get to the dock praying he's right.


	8. Chapter 8

On the shore, off the boat - everything aches but gets better the more I move. I lead us down the path. Under the canopy is virtual night, quiet but for crickets. Our footsteps make little sound. We keep low and cautious.

I miss my pistol already. Good thing I never gave it a name. The shotgun's damp from splashes but the shells are dry. At least I think so. I don't have time to worry about it.

It takes a long time winding through the forest before the first hint of torchlight greets us near the end of the path - we all duck behind trees and peer out.

_So that's where they all are._

Amy whimpers and Jean swears under his breath.

Past the trees, gathered around the open mouth of the mine like spectators at a pit fight, are a hundred silent _aldeanos_, stock still and staring at two figures struggling in the middle. Torchlight flickers brightly at either side of the pitch black opening, casts the ugly faces of the stunned crowd in orange and yellow light - we're close enough to see the drool on their chins.

The end of the path is on a little rise that dips down before the mine - I can clearly see the two figures fighting and my heart nearly stops dead.

_Leon._

It takes all I have to stay put. I grind my teeth. All the horror of the past few hours suddenly fades from my mind. _Leon. Leon. Leon's okay._

Not for long.

His careless hair is matted to his cheek with blood - eyes bewildered and spinning - one hand grips his shoulder and the other holds a length of pipe - normally handsome features are drawn in pain and fear. He charges at the brute pipe raised and brings it down hard on the thing's head with a sickening _pop_. The momentum of the blows sends him somersaulting behind his attacker. The man turns slowly to face him.

Not a man - not a squid-head - the top of his face is human but beneath the nose is a tattered mess of broken jaw and odd jutting teeth - and in that bloody hole foot-long, sharp insect legs stab out at the air frantically, like an beetle set on its back. Bright glowing eyes - this is the priest, the one who pretended not to see me peeking in the church window. He sees me now - his head raises - eyes shine into mine - I swear the sound that comes out of his shattered face is a laugh.

"Come on!" Leon shouts, crouched with his pipe ready.

The fucker takes a step back and opens his arms.

Pale insect legs push forward - a _crack!_ and his ribs break open - blood sprays over Leon and the motionless villagers behind him. Leon jumps up and stabs the pipe through the first pulsing white segment that comes through the chest cavity. A high-pitched squeal rings out. The crowd reacts as one being and all clutch at their heads. Pus and gore gush over Leon - he dodges the mad, scrambling legs and drives it in harder. The body topples backward - the squeal fades - the villagers straighten as see their leader twitching on the ground.

The wretched tableau holds long enough for me to snatch a grenade off Jean's belt.

I step out from behind the tree.

"_Run, Leon! Into the mine!"_

The sweet look of relief that comes over his face is worth dying for.

I pull the pin with my teeth and toss the grenade. Leon runs for the dark opening. A few _aldeanos_ not surprised by my sudden appearance make a grab for him - he's too quick, and Amy takes out his pursuers at the knees. More get wise and turn to the trees.

The grenade lands between the legs of the fallen leader. A second - a heartbeat - bullets from Amy and Jean blow off hands and heads - and the world explodes in a flash of light.


	9. Chapter 9

When the smoke clears, more villagers are getting to their feet than I expect - though over half of them are in bits and pieces scattered about the clearing. Jean and Amy break cover and follow me down the path. Can't see Leon - the dark mouth of the mine is empty - don't have time to worry, because the blast knocked off more than few heads and flailing tentacles reach for us the moment we're in the clear. They recover quickly - those with human faces shout to each other - they swarm like insects and soon stand in a line five deep between us and the entrance to the mine.

Shotgun goes _boom._

Four squid-heads coming at me fold in half and go flying back into the gathering crowd. Amy hangs behind us and fires with deadly accuracy, taking out knees in pairs. Jean is crouched beside me, stuttering bullets in the relentless mob. We have a circle of safety in front of us about two steps wide. It's shrinking by inches.

_Shit!_

I duck and narrowly avoid a swinging tentacle - something hisses in the air where my head just was. I straighten and fire. _There's too many of them._ They scramble over the fallen bodies of their comrades and just keep coming.

Jean screams - a tentacle grabs his wrist and twists it sharply to the right - he drops his gun and grabs his knife to lop it off. Blast after blast of my shotgun only clears the path for more. Heads explode. Amy cries out - I can't help her - I can't help Jean - I can't stop shooting, and soon my gun will be empty. I take a few out with a roundhouse kick and keep firing.

Over our gunfire and the moaning _aldeanos_, a chilling sound cuts through the night with a rusty growl. Villagers on the fringe of the swarm turn towards the open mine to see Leon emerge from the darkness holding a really big chainsaw - whirring blade three feet of hurt. He's grinning in that fierce, frenetic way of his. He looks like some bronzed god gone mad.

_My man._

Wordlessly they cry out and break off the frontal assault; wordlessly he lets out a scream and runs at the with the massive blade held over his head. As they meet Leon brings his arms down in an arc. He cuts through the villagers like butter. More turn, tentacle heads hissing. Jean holds his gun in his left hand, right one curled against his stomach - Amy is reloaded. So am I. We shower the villagers from our side. Leon screams with bloody satisfaction as the parts fly.

A few fast, angry minutes and it's over.

The clearing looks like a war zone - twitching bits, arms and tentacles, splashes that were once heads, ragged stumps held up - but we still stand. Leon lets the chainsaw wind down. He's coated in gore but looks damn happy for it - even Amy has a sort of bewildered smile, as if she can't believe she's still alive. She helps Jean to his feet. His pained expression lightens as he surveys the damage.

"We should be dead," he whispers. Amy gently takes his right arm and he winces.

I stumble over a torso - kick a head that some managed to come off intact - and run towards Leon. He drops the chainsaw and holds out his arms - tears draw pale tracks down his blood-soaked face.

I hold him tight, and long. When he pulls back his bright shining eyes search my face frantically. "It's really you," he whispers. "Really you."

I pull out a handkerchief and wipe his face. "It is."

There's no need to say anything else.


	10. Chapter 10

Jean's expression is grim in the torchlight as he wraps a rag around the red wound on his wrist. "I am running out of time, _mis amigos_," he says, and coughs heavily in his hand. Blood flecks his palm.

My arms fall from Leon. I take a step back and look at Amy. "You?"

She shakes her head but averts her eyes. "I'm fine."

I don't buy it. I can already feel... something... in me, like the first stage of a head-cold taking root. Not good. Not as bad as Jean, though, who continues to cough and looks like he's about to collapse.

Without a word, Leon reaches into his vest and pulls out a leather case. He's trying to hide a smile as he hands it to me.

"Something I picked up," he says. I snatch it from him and take a knee. Inside I feel slender tubes that clink together - _glass._

"You fucking beauty."

Leon grins. "Enough for everyone."

There on my knee are five vials of what I can only assume is the antidote. A luminescent green liquid - our sudden salvation. Good thing, too. I'm nearly out of ammo.

Relief washes over Jean's face and Amy covers her mouth to stifle a gasp. There's a hypodermic strapped in the pack as well - one of the vials has a bit less than the others. I shoot Leon a look.

He's finished with my kerchief and tilts his head to the side. Gingerly he raises his fingers to the round purplish mark on his neck. "Each vial contains twenty-five doses. More than enough."

I drop the depleted vial into the slot and hold it my neck. A pinch - a hiss - the sensation is at once cool and burning - and I'm cured. Just like that. Amy stands in front of me and tilts her head. Apprehension crosses her pretty features - pinch, hiss - and steps back rubbing her neck.

Jean regards me with haunted, hungry eyes. His coughing has left his hand red.

"Might be too late for me," he says. Blood bubbles at the corner of his quivering lips.

"Bullshit." I kneel and shoot him full of antidote before he can say another word. He jumps when the needle punctures his skin. I stand and hold out my hand. "The only thing its too late for is giving up."

I tuck the vial back in place with its brothers and close the case. When I slide it back into Leon's vest the two of us are grinning like contented cats.

The moment doesn't last long enough.

"Can we go now?" Amy asks. Jean leans on her for support and looks bewildered.

Just as I say, "Fuck yeah," Leon says, "No."

I spin on him. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

His eyes are grim. "We have to stop them. This thing goes way beyond this little village - this is just a test. They've shipped infected food to at least three other small towns in Spain."

_Fuentes,_ I think. The half-formed thought I'd had on the catwalk comes crashing back. _Supplies. Shit._

I shake my head to clear these thoughts. "No. We leave. We go to authorities - the President will listen to his own daughter..."

But Leon is shaking his head. He points at Amy who looks at his finger like it's about to explode.

"I came to get _her _- if I'd succeeded, then maybe there would be time. There isn't. The President has already agreed to their terms. Shipments of the infection are making their way to the States as we speak. We have to stop it at the source."

_No. I came for you. I found you. We're leaving. _But I can't deny the fire burning in his eyes - the overwhelming appreciation of duty that never flinches. Usually I admire his conviction. Tonight I damn it for all I'm worth.

I try my radio - dead, likely a victim of my swim. It lets out a belch of static and becomes as useless as a stone. I resist the urge to crush it under my boot heel. I scan the wet chunks of our foes, piled around us like garbage - but they were people, once, simple people with simple lives before this alien virus came to claim them - before revolutionaries decided to take advantage.

_Shit._

In the distance lies the castle - windows glowing like eyes.

I look at Leon. He's waiting for my answer, but his decision doesn't hang on it - he's going, one way or another.

"Jean, can you make it to the nearest city?"

His face is pale but he's no longer coughing. He nods.

I grit my teeth. "Take Amy and get out of here. Get to a phone - Amy, call your father and let him know you're alright. And take this." I reach into Leon's vest again - his heart is beating strong, fast, and under the fear-sweat I smell the scent that is his alone - and toss her the leather case. She fumbles it but doesn't let it fall. "Keep it safe."

I sigh heavily. Leon grabs my hand and squeezes. I squeeze back.

"Go now," I say. "Don't look back."

Jean bows gracefully - Amy's eyes well up - the two turn away from the flickering torchlight and creep into the woods. We listen to their footsteps until they fade away.

I take a step towards the mine - but Leon holds me back.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "Thank you for coming to rescue me."

I kiss him hard and deep.

"Now it's just the rest of the world we have to worry about," I say when I pull away. He laughs - such a carefree laugh, and the second time that night I think we're going to make it.

I take up the shotgun and nod at the mine. "Big fucking heroes, huh?"

He smiles. For that smile, I would do anything.

We run into the darkness.


End file.
